Triumvirate
by trufflemores
Summary: SPOILERS for "Star Trek Into " Defining moments in Spock's, Kirk's, and Bones' Features prompts from Livejournal's 100 Prompt #72: Ambiguous Spock/Kirk, friendship
1. 1: Evidence

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"Cadet Kirk, evidence has been submitted to this council, suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to Regulation 17.3 of the Starfleet Code. Is there anything you care to say before we begin?"

Kirk's eyes flickered among the admirals assembled and the audience behind him. After a moment, he cleared his throat inaudibly and requested, "Yes, I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly?"

He heard the movement – an almost imperceptible shifting of fabric that came from six meters behind and to his left. Turning to confront the new threat, he did not immediately understand how deep he was in when he first saw Spock: tall, regal, and quietly demonstrative, straightening his tunic without detracting from his authority. _Impressive_, Kirk thought, even as Admiral Barnett introduced him.

"Step forward, please," he commanded, eliciting a smooth, easy gait from the Vulcan – the ears were unmistakable – as he proceeded to the stand. "This is Commander Spock," Barnett added, addressing the congregation yet somehow focusing his attention solely on Kirk as he explained, "He's one of our most _distinguished _graduates. He's programmed the _Kobayashi Maru _exam for the last four years." Allowing the damning information to sink in, Barnett addressed Commander Spock with a simple repetition of his rank.

The Vulcan needed no further provocation, delving into a systematic dressing-down of Kirk's inward and outward integrity by subverting one of the Academy's most prized challenges. When Kirk submitted the irrefutable argument that the _Kobayashi Maru _was _designed _to be unwinnable, Spock's feathers were not ruffled in the slightest. If anything, he appeared more confident than ever as he responded, "Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario."

Campy, smiling, Kirk addressed the admiral directly, appealing to his character as he replied simply, "Well, I don't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Then not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principle lesson."

Exasperation warred with professional conduct as Kirk turned to the Vulcan. "Please, enlighten me."

"You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk," Spock answered, unfazed, his gaze spearing Kirk and forcing him to ignore the hundreds of cadets watching them. "A captain cannot cheat death."

Kirk bowed his head, momentarily unseated by the realization. "I of all people," he echoed quietly, forcing the Vulcan to say it aloud, to bring it into the open if he wanted to use it as a point.

Spock did not hesitate.

"Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk assumed command of his vessel shortly before being killed in action, did he not?"

The arrogantly detached way that Spock said it tipped Kirk over the line of professional courtesy, driving him to say snipily, "I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test."

Spock rode right over him, insisting, "Furthermore, you have failed to divine the purpose of the test."

Nerves already on edge, Kirk barely managed to stay civil as he ordered, "Enlighten me again."

"The purpose is to experience fear," Spock answered, undeterred, as he pressed forth his advantage for the killing blow. "Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. These are qualities expected in every Starfleet captain."

Silence descended over the atrium, rendering Spock's words in sharp relief in Kirk's mind. He could not ignore them as he stared down at the wooden podium in front of him, already knowing that any illusions he had had about creatively working his way through the ranks at Starfleet had been foiled.

Awaiting the condemning blow, he almost flinched when a messenger entered the room briskly, a PADD in his hands and an anxious expression on his face. It did not take long for Admiral Barnett to divine the purpose of that particular missive, lines tensing around his eyes and mouth. "We have received a distress call from Vulcan," he reported.

Spock's gaze snapped to him; Kirk's heart rate escalated.

"With our primary fleet engaged in the Laurentian system," Barnett continued, grim-faced and unhappy, "I hereby order all cadets to report to Hangar One immediately. Dismissed."

As one, the fleet rose, dozens of red uniforms flashing past before Bones joined him on the floor, already leaning in close as Spock turned brusquely and departed.

"Who was that pointy-eared bastard?" Kirk muttered, wondering if they would dock him further if they heard his unprofessional address of a superior officer.

"I don't know," Bones admitted, then, surprisingly cheerfully: "But I like him."

Kirk scowled as he joined the swarm, Bones at his heels, both of their uniforms melting into the sea of red flowing through the corridors and entering the broad swath that defined Hangar One mere minutes later.

The scene was one of organized chaos, a whirlwind of activity that swept Kirk off his feet. He found Commander Harrold with little difficulty, standing readily at attention as the older man rattled off enlistments. It was not until he said, "Go to your stations, and Godspeed," that Kirk realized his name had not been mentioned in the short stream of cadets.

Bones was there at his side, waiting, and Kirk startled as the realization seeped into him.

"He didn't call my name," he muttered, dazed and refusing to believe it as he raced off in hurried pursuit of his commanding officer, ignoring Bones' brisk, "_Jim_!"

"Sir," Kirk began, already trailing after the commander as Harrold attempted to put distance between them, attention focused immovably on his PADD. "Sir, you didn't call my name. Kirk, James T."

"Kirk, you're on academic suspension," Harrold announced, unsympathetic and clipped as he added, "Until the board rules. That means you're grounded."

_Great._

Bones caught up to him, sympathy and apology mingling in his expression. "Jim, the board will rule in your favor," he began, intending to sound hopeful and grounding but coming across as irrepressibly unfair to Kirk's selective, bitter hearing. He barely registered Bones' next words, hollow, perfunctory: "Look, Jim . . . I've gotta go."

Recognizing that Bones disliked being sent away without him almost as much as Kirk disliked the thought of being stuck on ground when everyone – all of his classmates, most of the fleet itself – was being mobilized to combat whatever threat had endangered Vulcan. It was priceless experience and a terrible opportunity to miss; Pike had emphasized repeatedly not to push his luck with Starfleet Command, to keep his head down if necessary to avoid unwanted conflict. "You aren't going to get far if you break the rules," Pike had warned.

_Here I am, _Kirk thought bitterly, mustering his best, brightest smile for Bones as he clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Yeah. You go. Be safe." He nodded, beaming so much it _hurt, _but he could not shake the feeling that Bones knew it was a ruse, a lie, and he did not attempt to disillusion him more directly.

Bones eyed him in silent consternation before turning on his heel and returning to his station, leaving Kirk alone, oddly adrift in the center of the chaos, stepping aside to permit a case-bearing engineer the opportunity to pass.

He watched the shuttlecrafts loading, a lump coalescing in his throat as he realized that he would not be joining them, that he would be stuck _here _while they got to go up into space and see Vulcan, interact with Vulcans, maybe even spend some surface time.

Yes, Vulcan was almost unbearably hot, boasting the warmest climate of any of the inhabitable regions within a day's flight of Earth. Its people – if Spock was any indication – were at odds with their climate, chillingly detached and often lacking apparent empathy, yet still they were renowned for their capabilities, for their contributions, for their reputable relationship with Starfleet.

It was an unprecedented opportunity: third-year cadets being permitted to travel to Vulcan for a serious engagement, challenging whatever forces had disrupted Vulcan's perpetual peaceful state of mind and restoring it by whatever means necessary. It was diplomacy and combat and adventure all rolled into one; a delicious cocktail of untried challenges and more familiar alien cultures.

And he _couldn't go._

It nagged at him worse than he could say, but he couldn't say it, forcing one foot to move in front of the other seconds before a hand fell to his shoulder, gripping it tightly and steering him in a half-circle. "Come with me," Bones ordered, and Kirk had no choice but to follow as his heart raced and hope flooded his veins, almost dizzy with relief.

Still, he kept a level head, asking the more serious, pertinent question first: "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Bones hissed, ducking past several higher officers as he pushed Kirk down a narrow alley between the shuttles, leading him into a standard medical unit without pause. "Have a seat," he said, propelling Kirk towards the only chair in the room as he advanced towards an unpleasant-looking row of hypo-bottles, flashy concoctions in shades Kirk had no words for. "I'm going to give you a mild vaccine against viral infection," Bones informed in his usual deadpan demur, jabbing him in the neck before he could so much as squeak a protest, yelping in response to the unexpected pain.

"Ow! What _for_?"

"To give you the symptoms."

Bones was unapologetic, yet Kirk felt his world teetering abruptly on a strange axis as his left eye went dark, vision abruptly sliced into four segments instead of five. "You're going to start to lose vision in your left eye," Bones' voice came, seemingly far away.

"Yeah, I already have," Kirk admitted, grimacing, as a crippling pain accompanied the partial blindness, almost sending him to the floor as he gritted his teeth against a whine of protest.

"You're also going to get a really bad headache and a flop sweat."

Almost on cue, perspiration gathered at the sleeves of Kirk's uniform, a clammy uncomfortableness making itself known along his arms and shoulders. Combined with the headache and the vision loss, he could barely form words when Bones hauled him to his feet abruptly, grating out, "You call this a favor?" as Bones dragged him back into the open, a colossal amount of color exploding in Kirk's field of vision and drowning out anything else the doctor might have said.

He had known before the flashing, whirling nightmare confronted him that Bones was a medical professional and that being a pain in the ass was partially what he was paid to do. He needed to be tough with hard patients, insisting that they take their meds, listen to his orders, and for the love of God, don't _touch _that. He was immovable when he needed to be but surprisingly gentle in spite of his gruff manner, manhandling Kirk down the same alleys with ease.

Kirk almost tripped over his own feet as they clambered up the short ramp separating them and the shuttlecraft, head throbbing from the rush of movement and the equally abrupt halt to his forward motion as one of the security officers delayed Bones' entrance.

". . . so I'm taking Mr. Kirk aboard," Bones was saying in that growly, inarguable manner that commandeered obedience from even the most stubborn patients under his care. Kirk wished that he could understand his speech better, but the temperature had risen dramatically within the confines of his cadet reds and he was beginning to regret ever putting them on in the first place. Breathing heavily, expelling as much of the hot air in as little time as he could, he missed Bones' final retort as he was hauled unceremoniouslyaboard, tripping over his feet once more.

In spite of his normal ease of movement and comfort aboard a shuttlecraft, the dizzying tilt of seats and harnesses and wary-eyed cadets disoriented him, forcing him to rely utterly on Bones' guidance. Thankfully Bones found them a pair of seats in due time, sandwiching himself between another cadet and Kirk as he helped Kirk's fumbling hands buckle himself in.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, almost fond exasperation tinting his voice as Kirk reached up to tug at his collar weakly, desperately wishing that he was back in his own apartment with no one to care if he stripped naked and laid on a pool of ice cubes until his skin stopped prickling with the heat.

"Bones," he gritted, suddenly, embarassingly close to vomiting all over his own lap as the shuttlecraft rocked once a time later.

Bones patted his shoulder once. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "Breathe through your nose."

Kirk did so, finding it almost impossible to uphold as the shuttlecraft began to lift off the ground, arching in a steep angle towards the sky to gain altitude more quickly. The vibrating motion rocked him in his seat, making his entire body shudder with the need to expel everything he'd ever eaten. Gritting his teeth and reminding himself that the last thing he needed to do was draw overt attention to himself and get himself kicked off the shuttlecraft, Kirk gritted his teeth, breathing increasing as it became more and more impossible to uphold Bones' verdict.

At last, terrified that he wasn't going to make it, he ground out, "I may throw up on you."

To his surprise, Bones didn't express alarm or immediately call for a viable alternative to his lap to throw up in. Instead, he commanded his attention with six words, seven humble syllables that pulled him out of his misery for a few brief seconds.

_Jim, you've gotta look at this._

"What?" he managed, knowing that if it was anything less than the antidote to whatever poison Bones had infected him with he didn't care. Bones didn't answer and, as curiosity piqued in spite of his misery, Kirk opened his eyes and felt his mouth drop open in surprise as he leaned forward and beheld the starship _Enterprise _for the first time.

He had seen her under construction at Riverside Shipyards back in Iowa, sure, but that was another life. She hadn't been coated in silver and christened with her trademark then. Nor had she seemed half as large, standing now in that mounting blackness that defined space, stark and beautiful and intensely alluring.

Breathless and relieved, Kirk stared, and all he could say was, "Whoa."

. o .

Optimism and excitement quickly waned in the face of reality as the shuttlecraft landed inside the _Enterprise _mere minutes later, a rocky end to a rocky journey. Kirk was tense from head to toe as Bones dragged him out of his harness and on board the ship. Once he had solid steel beneath his feet, Kirk regained his bearings a little, squinting and frowning at the hundreds of cadets zipping around him.

"We need to get you changed," Bones was saying.

_Fuck, yeah_. He was pretty sure that his present body composition had simultaneously increased and decreased in water content; it was a disruptive feeling, distracting him from properly appreciating the marvels the _Enterprise _had to offer.

"I don't feel right, I feel like I'm leaking," he blurted out unthinkingly, too dazed to feel embarassed as Bones dragged him down another passage, the words, "There goes that pointy-eared bastard," dissolving in the sussuration of a hundred voices.

The corridors seemed to flow from one to the next, sleek, modern design standing out in stark contrast to the darker models used on ground at the Academy. Kirk wasn't sure if the contrast was meant to emphasize the _Enterprise_'s newness or simply highlight the differences between her and other, older ships.

Either way, he felt vaguely disappointed that appreiating the full beauty of the _Enterprise _was an impossibility when merely walking proved almost indomitably difficult.

"Where are we?" he demanded, pain and frustration warring for dominance as they entered a bright, almost dauntingly well-lit portion of the ship.

"Medical Bay." Bones spoke without missing a beat, guiding him towards the empty row of biobeds as Kirk surveyed his new surroundings, squinting and dragging his feet as coordination failed him.

"This isn't worth it," he groaned, draped over Bones' shoulder haphazardly.

"A little suffering's good for the soul," Bones retorted jauntily, unbothered, as a pair of delightfully trim nurses passed by.

"Hey, hi, how are you," Kirk began, intercepted by Bones dragging him forcefully over to one of the beds and depositing him on it. "My mouth is itchy; is that normal?" he demanded, feeling disconcerted by the breadth and variety of his symptoms, each one a new and unanticipated discomfort.

"Well, those symptoms won't last long," Bones assured in his least assuring voice, the sound of a hypospray being loaded further discouraging Kirk's train of thought. "I'm going to give you a mild sedative."

Kirk groaned. "I wish I didn't know you."

"Don't be such an infant," Bones chided, seconds before the familiar stab of the hypo sank home.

Unable to help himself, Kirk asked, "How long's it supposed to – ?"

He was out before he finished the sentence, darkness blanketing him gently into the unknown.

. o .

**Author's Notes**: Hello, everyone. This is what I like to call "truffles combats writer's block by seeking a new outlet." This series will feature as many moments in Spock, Kirk, and Bones' history as possible from both the movies as well as missing scenes both before and after the reboot began. I will do my best to cast a wide net and capture AU elements as well. I am hoping to get started on "Revival" again as soon as possible, and I also want to finish "Predatorial" soon, but for now, I hope you'll enjoy this miniseries!

Let me know what you thought. I am using the Livejournal 100 prompts for inspiration at the moment, but one or two word prompts will also be accepted.

Yours truly,

truffles


	2. 72: Victory

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

The ship is silent, and Spock is waiting.

Kirk advances slowly across the bridge, not wanting to startle the figure seated mutely at its center. It is a needless concern; sharp Vulcan senses detect him before he is halfway across the floor. Still, Spock does not move, preferring to stare motionlessly out into space, lost in his own contemplation.

Halting at his shoulder, Kirk folds his arms, observing the same vista for several seconds. At last, he clears his throat lightly and asks, "How's our ship, Mr. Spock?"

"Doing well, Captain," his first officer replies, black gaze forward, unflinching. "All systems report sufficient levels to sustain it for repairs."

Kirk nods, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "Thank you, Mr. Spock," is all he says, releasing him a moment later and turning to address the rest of the bridge. They have been pointedly focused on their tasks, permitting the seniormost officers a moment of privacy, and Kirk cannot help but smile.

"As captain," he begins, "it is my duty to ensure that each of the crewmembers aboard this vessel receive optimal care. I hereby relieve you of duty."

They do not move at once, at last rising one by one, offering him salutes, hand shakes, even a hug from Uhura. "You did good," Sulu says, shaking his hand once firmly. "Thank you, Keptin," Chekov affirms, saluting and hastily returning the smile that Kirk offers. "Fine work, Mr. Kirk. Fine work," Scotty appraises.

Bones gives him a wordless once-over, nods, and growls, "Don't do anything stupid."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Kirk vows, smiling after him.

The turbolift doors close behind Bones' blue unifom, the ship already powering down to its lowest settings. The space dock will take care of the repairs; foremost among the duties of any space dock is providing hospitality for the vessels permitted to land at its moorings. The _Enterprise _managed to limp her way home on thrusters, gratefully docking thirty-six hours later at Space Dock 1.

None of the officers complained about the extra hours doubtless logged on their files, ratcheting up the time spent on unauthorized extra duty. Kirk knows that they needed rest, recovery, time to address their grief and begin to cope with it, but time was a rarity that he could not afford, then, and he relied upon their resilience and allegiance to him to carry them through.

They have done well, immeasurably so, and it warmed Kirk inexplicably to see them all still seated at their stations when he stepped onto the bridge once more, patched up after nearly two weeks in rest and recovery.

They slept, they ate, and they doubtless took time not consciously thinking about their stations, but he simple fact remained that they had not abandoned their duties without his permission. They did not leave until he told them he could.

A profound show of loyalty, and respect.

He almost misses the soft, "Captain" that hails him, halfway across thebridge.

Pausing midway through a preliminary report regarding the ship's condition, he turns to Spock and asks, "Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"Though your actions were . . . heroic, I would advise you avoid them in the future," he says simply.

If Kirk was not looking at him then, doubtless he would have missed the meaning, the urgency behind Spock's words. It's in his eyes, the dark, cool, calculating pools of unfathomable knowledge and untouchable emotion. It aches in his soul, a deep, heavy ache that cannot be alleviated through mere inconsequentiality (_I'm fine, Spock_), and so requires a deeper healing.

A promise.

"I'll do my best," he says, as honestly as he can, feeling the stretch of the captain's tunic over his torso, the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

Spock nods and rises from his seat, a tall dark figure aboard the dimming atmosphere surrounding themselves, systems powered down to minimum operation. Kirk knows that repair teams have already been at work on the ship, stabilizing and assisting with the removal of the most endangered crew members; yet he also knows that much repairs await them, and the physical scars from the battle weigh almost as deeply on his heart as the mental ones.

"I can't promise that I won't be in dangerous situations," Kirk begins, "because I can't. I also won't lie and say that I won't get hurt. Because I will." Meeting Spock's gaze, he adds, very seriously, "But I will do everything in my power to be here. I will do everything to ensure that this ship is safe."

Spock stares at him, tipping his head in a brief, barely there nod before tucking his hands behind his back, astute, unruffled once more, the grayish-green bruises under his eyes barely visible. "Permission to leave, Captain?" he inquires, formal and yet, alone on the bridge of the flagship, somehow deeply intimate as well.

Kirk nods once, echoing aloud, "Permission granted," as Spock brushes briskly past him, entering the turbolift alone and, after a moment's consideration, holding it for Kirk.

Taking a moment to scan the empty bridge, Kirk breathes in slowly and lets it go, knowing that the battle is not over, yet, never will be, in a sense. There will always be new threats, new challenges to face, and he knows the tolls that they can take, on his ship, on his crew, on himself.

But as he turns to his first officer and enters the turbolift beside him, he cannot help but feel triumphant. "We did it," he muses.

Spock does not respond, but in the way his eyes close and head twitches in a single nod, Kirk knows that he is thinking the same.


End file.
